Swans and Chickens
This week I've been in the wilds of Cheshire babysitting my mother-in-law's chickens. The N00b loves the chickens and the countryside, and I had made plans to let her play with the hens, go for long frosty walks in the fields and maybe take advantage of the early dusk and lack of light pollution to get a bit of stargazing in. There's a nice little park at the end of the road where the in-laws live. There's swings and slides and a climbing frame, and because the village is so small I've never seen another kid playing there, let alone the gangs of older children that sometimes inadvertently intimidate her out of enjoying our local park. I was hoping to get a morning or two of working off the toddler steam so that I wouldn't be stuck in the wilderness with a hyperactive N00b as well as a colicky Spod. Spod has been a bit troublesome lately, and has spent her time eating or yelling, but definitely not sleeping. This has meant that I too have had very little sleep and have been drinking coffee to stay awake, which creates a wonderful vicious circle when the caffeine hits the breastmilk... Of course the weather was abominable. The storms were so bad that they tore huge branches off the oak tree in the garden and completely destroyed the cast iron archway that led to the chicken run. The kids were confined to the living room for safety while I made the occasional brave dash to the end of the garden to feed the hens and check that they hadn't blown away or drowned in the torrential rain.
Seeing that we were trapped in the house I recorded Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake on the sky box, as the N00b completely loves dance and even the Spod likes to listen to a bit of Tchaikovsky. I thought it would make a less mind-numbing alternative to Peppa Pig, since the kids are way too little to be disturbed by the subtext or the Hitchcock references. The N00b loves the original Swan Lake pretty hard because there's a 'Magic Pintstess' and some damn good music, which as Disney knows is all you need to win a young child's heart. I'd already expected her to dance around the room and narrate the whole proceedings to me because that's what she does for every ballet ever. Matthew Bourne's version with the semi-nude male swans however, blew her tiny little mind. "MUMMY!" she yelled "Swan pintstess is a DADDY!"
"Yes darling" I told her "In this version, all of the swans are men."
"DADDY SWAN, DADDY SWAN!!!"
So we watched it, nearly deafened by the n00b's enthusiasm and then the credits rolled. "What would you like to do now?" I asked.
"More swan please!"
"Wouldn't you like to do a jigsaw puzzle?"
"Again swan please!"
"You could drive your toy car? Or watch some Peppa Pig?"
"AGAIN MORE SWAN!!!"
I was in no humour to endure a tantrumming two year old on top of the colicky Spod, so we watched it again. It's a good dance, and there's enough detail that you can enjoy a second viewing, especially with all the athletic young men in nothing but fuzzy shorts and white paint. But then as the credits rolled for a second time "Again more swan please!"
I'd known for a while that toddlers have a tendency to like the same things repeated again and again, and most kids have one film or one book that they'll happily keep asking for and keep watching with absolutely no sign of ever getting bored. I suppose I should feel lucky that the N00b picked something with some eye-candy in it, and a bit more cultural cachet than High School Musical, but having been trapped in the countryside with it on endless repeat it is still possible to have too much of a good thing. We have watched Swan Lake five times now, and I will be very happy not to look at a chicken or a swan for a while. At least I brought my knitting, but unless the Spod starts settling down for more than half an hour at a time, she might not have a stocking knitted in time for Christmas!
Seeing that we were trapped in the house I recorded Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake on the sky box, as the N00b completely loves dance and even the Spod likes to listen to a bit of Tchaikovsky. I thought it would make a less mind-numbing alternative to Peppa Pig, since the kids are way too little to be disturbed by the subtext or the Hitchcock references. The N00b loves the original Swan Lake pretty hard because there's a 'Magic Pintstess' and some damn good music, which as Disney knows is all you need to win a young child's heart. I'd already expected her to dance around the room and narrate the whole proceedings to me because that's what she does for every ballet ever. Matthew Bourne's version with the semi-nude male swans however, blew her tiny little mind. "MUMMY!" she yelled "Swan pintstess is a DADDY!"
"Yes darling" I told her "In this version, all of the swans are men."
"DADDY SWAN, DADDY SWAN!!!"
So we watched it, nearly deafened by the n00b's enthusiasm and then the credits rolled. "What would you like to do now?" I asked.
"More swan please!"
"Wouldn't you like to do a jigsaw puzzle?"
"Again swan please!"
"You could drive your toy car? Or watch some Peppa Pig?"
"AGAIN MORE SWAN!!!"
I was in no humour to endure a tantrumming two year old on top of the colicky Spod, so we watched it again. It's a good dance, and there's enough detail that you can enjoy a second viewing, especially with all the athletic young men in nothing but fuzzy shorts and white paint. But then as the credits rolled for a second time "Again more swan please!"
I'd known for a while that toddlers have a tendency to like the same things repeated again and again, and most kids have one film or one book that they'll happily keep asking for and keep watching with absolutely no sign of ever getting bored. I suppose I should feel lucky that the N00b picked something with some eye-candy in it, and a bit more cultural cachet than High School Musical, but having been trapped in the countryside with it on endless repeat it is still possible to have too much of a good thing. We have watched Swan Lake five times now, and I will be very happy not to look at a chicken or a swan for a while. At least I brought my knitting, but unless the Spod starts settling down for more than half an hour at a time, she might not have a stocking knitted in time for Christmas!